


A Very Deliberate Ruination

by PeopleGoBoom



Series: Intelligible Villains [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Manipulation, Parents, Pregnancy, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleGoBoom/pseuds/PeopleGoBoom
Summary: “My family appears to think it is a good idea to use my marriageable age to form some family alliance, and they do so with absolutely no regard to my feelings on the matter,” she explained. He needed to know this much, at least. Hopefully he would be the only one needing to know as much. “I need to remove myself as a bargaining chip for my family, and as far as I can see the only option is a certain devaluation on the marriage market.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon my British.

Pansy Parkinson came back from Christmas break her seventh year on Hogwarts with a set jaw and a decision sitting in the top of her belly like a determined ache. It had been a strange semester at school, with increasing power but also a festering hostility, and she had imagined home would provide a much-needed break from all that. Instead her family had been too busy manoeuvring around the changing power patterns of the rest of the wizarding world to take much notice of her, except for the role she might play in the shifting allegiances and alliances of families. When it came to that she rather wished they would notice her a bit less.

“There is no way this is even remotely acceptable”, she had told her parents. “People do not do that sort of thing any more, or at least not for hundreds of years. Well, the mudbloods kept it up a bit longer, but we are supposed to be a bit more civilized than that, aren't we?” The fact that her parents let her get away with the insult worried her. If even rudeness like this didn't work, there was probably no effective way to derail the conversation. It really was worrying, as was her mother sitting so uncharacteristically still, letting her husband run the conversation. Or bulldoze, as it were.

“You are being overly dramatic, Pansy. What we are suggesting is quite a different matter from what you describe, as you know perfectly well. You may have noticed there is a war on. One way or another this war will change the social map of the wizarding world. Even if you have no sense of duty you should at least have some self-preservation. You would would do well to take an interest in our family not being affected by this. I am disappointed to see that your family feeling leaves something to be desired –”

“That's funny, father, because I was thinking just the same thing about you two just now.”

“Do not go there. No matter how this plays out we will see you safe, Pansy, and that is our main concern. Do try to keep that in mind. Of course we are interested in managing as well as we can as well and taking opportunities along the way, but your safety is the most important thing, Pansy. And don't you dare to act like we are marrying you off to whatever young man has the best family connections whatever you have to say about it. What we are saying is simply that you should make every effort towards a good match while still at Hogwarts, as I am sure the other girls in your year are already doing.”

“Excuse me, father, but I seem to recall some rather specific suggestions were included.”

“Sweetie,” her mother intervened, “just because we pointed out a few likely candidates does not mean we are going to make this decision for you, not as long as you seem well on track to doing it your own way.”

She knew an ultimatum when she saw one. The implication was clear enough: If she came home from Hogwarts at the end of the year without a strategically chosen fiancé she would promptly be promised to someone rather unappealing, and probably married within the year. Even before her father mentioned the name of Henry Faust, that old fart, she was sure of one thing only: There was no way this was going to happen to her. Even if it really was born out of care, as her father claimed, there was just no way that was going to happen.

Her breakfast tasted nothing the next morning. Not even the burst of hot, fried tomato in her mouth or the ice-cold orange juice made her feel awake or even alive. Her head felt like cotton. She tried to behave as neutrally as she could toward her mother, which wasn't that hard – she couldn't seem to feel much anyway. On the train she hid in an empty compartment, nevermind any expectations of showing leadership. Her head gradually became clearer as she spent the whole ride to Hogwarts sharply poking at her slowly-forming plan until it started to hold its shape.

\---

She knocked on the door of headmaster Snape early the next morning. “I urgently need to speak to you as head of house and resident potions master,” she said as soon as he opened the door. Desperation and formality, yet not invoking his highest office in any way. She was not here for his headmaster power, she was here for his potion skills and his responsibility to her as a Slytherin student. She would let him see her real desperation, although flaunting it would never do, he would know the difference for sure. And as always she tried to not quite match his rather absurd level of formality, which she had never figured out if was a honest preference or a clumsy attempt to sound like a pureblood.

“Ominous,” he remarked, but let her in to sit on the opposite side of his big desk. “Now tell me what you need, miss Parkinson.”

“A fertility potion and a stasis vial of human sperm.”

His eyebrows climbed until there was nowhere left for them to climb.

“When it comes to these things most young women tend to make the opposite type of request of the resident potions master,” he remarked, clearly buying time to collect his mind. She provided the time he needed, staying quiet while he pondered the situation. “It is for you, of course? Not some... sabotage of a rival or something like that?”

She was equal parts impressed and disturbed by the thought. So very Slytherin. “No, professor, nothing like that,” she said. “Or I would have needed a sleeping potion as well. And I certainly would not have asked you for help as discovery would be guaranteed.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “What is the purpose of this, then? You will have to admit it is a rather unusual request, so I expect you to divulge rather more information in spite of the obvious delicacy of whatever situation you find yourself in.”

“My family appears to think it is a good idea to use my marriageable age to form some family alliance, and they do so with absolutely no regard to my feelings on the matter,” she explained. He needed to know this much, at least. Hopefully he would be the only one needing to know as much. “I need to remove myself as a bargaining chip for my family, and as far as I can see the only option is a certain devaluation on the marriage market.”

“I see. And would this devaluation be permanent?”

“Hopefully, yes.”

“You are prepared to take care of a child?”

“Of course I am. I do have a personal house elf, you know.”

“You have considered whether a less drastic solution might be serviceable? A rumour about pregnancy, perhaps?”

“I thought about it, and it will not do. Rumours about abortions can be buried with enough resources, a living child cannot. Or if it can my family couldn't do it, morally or practically.

“I think I comprehend the situation. The fertility potion, though… are you anticipating any problems conceiving?”

“No, but I figured time is of the essence. The earlier I become pregnant, the more time do I have to spread the idea and so the harder a time my family would have in removing the problem. I am aiming for it to be all but impossible for them, so if I could become pregnant this cycle that would be the best.”

“You are assuming I will help,” the headmaster pondered.

“I am not assuming, but the rest of my life depends on it, so I am being honest about my plan and my situation and hoping for the best.”

“And what likely motivations are you imagining might move me to do so?”

“The ever-lasting goodness of your heart, of course” she tried, jokingly. He did not look impressed. Something real, then. “Oh, very well: Because you are my head of house. Because it will be fairly easy for you to accomplish. Because you have shown on several occasions that you don't care for parents who think they can do anything just because they are parents.”

“That is as it may be. Surely it would have been far easier to just steal a fertility potion and find any young man of a suitable age to seduce, though? You would be happy to hear, miss Parkinson, that schools tend to collect young men of just that age.”

“If I could trust them to keep mum, sure. Otherwise I would just end up married to whoever it was to get rid of the shame.”

“Unless it was a muggle-born. Surely your family would not force you to marry one of them?”

“I considered that, but my opinions on mudbloods is too well-known. Trying to seduce one of them would never work. It would just lead to suspicion, awkwardness, and delay.”

“I understand. You could of course hedge your bets about the war and try for a blood traitor...”

“I am hedging my bets by not knowing whose genes I will carry. That will have to be enough.”

“Very well, then, what kind of sperm did you have in mind?”

“Um,” she started, unprepared for the sudden turn in conversation. “What kind? Is it so easy to come by that there would be a… selection? I suppose I assumed I would just have to take whatever was available.”

“Well, I am not saying I could necessarily bring you any sizeable selection. And I am sorry to be crude, but much as I will try to make it otherwise, there's a small chance that the only selection I will have ready for you within this cycle will be of one.”

She stared, digesting the information. She should have thought of this, really, she should.

“Look, headmaster,” she managed. “All I really need is to genuinely have no idea whose child it is in case my family somehow find a ligilimens, and for no one else to know either, except you. That really is all that is important to me. I would personally prefer someone magical, of course, but there are strategic benefits to muggles as well. The increased chances of a squib child could be a good thing. If this war draws out irrelevance might be a blessing, for both me and the child.”

“I see. As for the selection, Miss Parkinson...”

“I understand the implications of what I am asking for. Please.”

“No, I must be direct about this, miss Parkinson. There must be absolutely no room for misunderstanding. You have my word that I will do my best to avoid such a situation, but if the only selection available would be mine...”

“I can assure you I don't care, headmaster, I am sure your genes are excellent.”

“I would thank you not to interrupt. My genes are certainly no such thing, but that is not what concerns me. If it were to somehow be known that I had impregnated you, people might assume there had been a… sexual liaison.”

“For fuck's sake!”

Eyebrows.

“I mean, I'm sorry, headmaster, but who cares about things like that anymore? I'm sure Voldemort would be impressed with your new-found ethical standards, though.” The implied threat seemed to have an impact in spite of its sulky deliverance. She left it at that. She was counting on him doing this because of sympathy for a favourite student in a difficult situation, and while a little unease on his part could be helpful, his motivation must be mostly sympathy. And he seemed to have some interest in either achieving or avoiding procreation in the process himself. Probably avoiding, although she honestly couldn't tell which. There would be no point in trying to figure that out, not knowing was more useful for her anyway.

“Very well,” he folded. “I assume you have investigated what would be the most opportune moment in your cycle for you to engineer this pregnancy?”

“In eleven days.”

“I will do my uttermost to procure the required materials by then.”

“Thank you, headmaster. I am so relieved you could help.”

\---

Well, that had gone reasonably well. She hadn't even had to threaten to jump from the astronomy tower, ruining the school's most favoured make-out spot for generations in the process. She was desperate, to be sure, but her plan A really was much better. If she could trust the headmaster, that was. He would never accidentally betray her, and he could probably not be forced to – he was a powerful occlumens, but of course he might still do it on purpose. Well, she had to trust someone, and she was small fish in the long run. The only way she could think of that he might use the situation was to give her the sperm of someone important and use it against her later. It was unlikely, though on her way up the stairs to the library she got a giggle out of the thought of Snape having locked away somewhere flankons of the sperm of Dumbledore or Grindelwald or some other dead bully or hero to impregnate unsuspecting young girls such as herself. Not too bloody likely.

The books about pregnancy were in the restricted section – she should probably have expected that. But madam Pince had been a Slytherin, and as she was from a not especially important family she had become used to deferring to other Slytherins. Even students, sometimes, if they played their cards right. Pansy did, and the two women had a nice little chat where they both agreed that the reason for that placement was mostly kids in the earlier years and sluttish Gryffindors looking to rectify the results of their enthusiasm. Nothing that applied to Pansy, certainly, madam Pince agreed, and let her have both a book about fertility potions and one about pregnancy in general. There was even a muggle pregnancy book, but she left that – who knows what in there might apply or not.

She found that only about fifty per cent of pregnancies had morning sickness, and that it didn't always happen in the morning. She had somehow assumed that part of pregnancy was fairly obligatory. This could present a problem – she had counted on getting caught by her dorm-mates early enough for the gossip mill to be running smoothly before she left Hogwarts, and she had assumed throwing up in the mornings would be an ideal time to get caught – because everyone knew about morning sickness, after all. Well, if she had to she would think of a way to fake it. Puking pills of some sort, wasn't that a thing the smaller kids were doing a few years ago? She should get some of those, just in case, if she could get her hands on them discreetly.

She wished the war would just end already. Someone would just have to win it, and soon. Preferably Voldemort, as he seemed to see the need for change, but Pansy couldn't bring herself to care all that much which side won anymore. Voldemort really was the most likely, though. Either way she felt confident that she would be able to navigate whatever happened, and so would her family, if in a slightly more panicky way than she would have expected, if Christmas break was any indication. What she could really not handle was how long it was all taking. This war needed to end so she could live her life and become what she needed to be, preferably somewhere far away from here. First things first, though. She hoped she would vomit.

\---

She did vomit. She wished she hadn't – the faking would have been far better. At least then she would have had some control. Even some knowledge of when it would happen would have been good. The idea of making sure she would be caught in the act was becoming ridiculous fast, as she was soon scrambling to get caught as little as possible so it would not seem too over-the-top. Yesterday the smell of one of the more common potion ingredients had set her off. She had bolted from the classroom and found herself listening to the taunts of some stupid bathroom ghost as she threw up so hard it splattered back from the loo to her face. The books had mentioned the general disgustingness of pregnancy, but somehow it did not really sink in until she stood there cleaning her eyelids and nose, wondering if her face would ever stop smelling of vomit and loo-water again.

The next day she found Millicent and Daphne sitting on her bed in an otherwise suspiciously empty dorm room. “Welcome to your INTERVENTION!” Millicent shouted, throwing shredded paper at her. “Well,” Daphne amended. “We noticed, of course.”

“An intervention! Wow. Where's the cake, then?” Pansy quipped.

“What are we, Hufflepuffs?” Millicent retorted. Pansy laughed. A Hufflepuff-staged intervention probably would have cake, at that. “It'd be a waste of cake, though. You'd just feed it straight to the loo anyway.”

“Well. Yes.” Originally she had planned for fierce denial at this stage, but with her puke show exceeding expectations there was really no point.

“So, I'd start out by calling you a stupid slut, but I think you've probably made that a mantra yourself by now. Honestly, as if potions isn't your best subject! It's not that hard to brew an anti-conception, but there's no way we can help you brew an abortive. But my cousin Amanda says there's this hag in Hogsmeade who has helped out some girls before...”

“And madam Pomfrey has some potions that can be used for that sort of thing if that fails,” Daphne added. “I'm positive I could get Astoria to steal some – Pomfrey likes Astoria, thinks she's really innocent for some reason. As if. And if that fails… well, I have some shit on Snape, we can probably get him to brew up something really fail-safe for you. But if I have to use what I have on him for that I am expecting to be paid back with interest, just so we're clear.”

“Hold on,” Pansy said weakly. “That's... not what I want.” They stared, processing that for a few long, awkward seconds.

“For fucks sake,” Millicent groaned, “did you seduce Draco over hols? He won't marry you just because you carry his genes around, surely you know that, right? Merlin, you really _are_ a stupid slut. Wow.”

Could it be useful if they thought it was Draco's after all? No, her mother already considered Draco prime marriage material. People would assume what Millicent assumed: That she was trying to keep an ex by making a wedding happen. Of course the Malfoys would never stand for it, so she would also look like she tried to force a shotgun marriage and failed miserably. People would think she had the social instincts of a dust bunny. Not exactly the kind of ruination she had in mind for herself.

“I know, Millicent, I am not trying to force anyone to marry me. And no, I did not see Draco at all over winter hols. _It's not his_. Also, do you really think I'm that desperate to get him back?”

“Well,” Daphne said apologetically.

“Duh,” Millicent confirmed.

“It wouldn't be implausible...” Daphne elaborated.

“Well, believe what you like, but I would not enjoy being married to my ex who would hate me for it the entire marriage. Which would be short, considering that my lovely in-laws would probably arrange some accident to free their son up for better prospects. 'So tragic, a widower at nineteen, this war has been cruel to us all...' Hey, wait, they _wouldn't allow it in the first place_. It would be all shame and no gain. Utterly useless. No. Thank. You.”

“I see you have given this some thought,” Daphne sniped.

“To be honest there's really no way you can convince me that Draco's not part of your game in some way,” Milly shrugged.

“Except if we knew whose it really is,” Daphne offered.

“Mine,” Pansy snapped.

“Don't be so testy, Pansy, we are trying to help.”

“Oh, bullshit, Daphne. You started out trying to help, but now that you've realized things are more complicated than they seemed at first you're trying to pump me for information.”

“Please don't present those as opposites, Pansy, it's really quite rude.”

“Pansy, you bitch, don't insult our friendship. We do care, you know.”

“I know, I know. Well, the deal is this: Yes, I am pregnant. I would like to stay pregnant. And I swear on my family honor that I truly have absolutely no idea whose genes I carry around aside from my own.”

“OK, now I will call you a stupid slut for real. Stupid! Slut! Pansy! What the hell were you thinking?”

Daphne's thoughtful face, however, transformed into a grim sympathy that was frankly a lot scarier than Millicent's outburst. “No, no. Clever slut, Pansy,” she said, giving a somewhat concerned smile. Pansy smiled back. Trust Daphne to get it. “I'll just get to work, then,” she said, leaving the room. Millicent stared after her, and Pansy could see the moment realization dawned in her face as well. Shit. Well.

“Now get off my bed, Milly. I appreciate the concern, but I also really need a nap.”

“Pregnancy thing?”

“I guess. I just want all the sleep.”

“Stupid slut,” Millicent said affectionately. “So I guess that'll be your nickname for the rest of the year in case some people are slow on the uptake?”

“That would be good, yeah.”

“Can do.” She hugged Pansy and bounced over to her own bed to read a quidditch mag.

Pansy burrowed under the covers. That could have gone worse. She had given away more than she meant to, of course. They weren't meant to realize it was on purpose, for fuck's sake. But as far as she trusted any of her fellow students now that Draco was gone, these girls were it. They would oil the gossip wheel for her and direct the talk if it needed directing. All she would have to do was go about her business and look properly shamefaced, with a thin glaze of stubborn.

\---

There was no howler from home, of course. The Parkinsons never aired their dirty laundry in public. Towards the end of April there was, however, a letter from her mother informing her that Pansy should have written to her for help so she could have helped solve the problem before it got out of hand. Not to worry, though: It might still not be too late. Her father had contacted the headmaster to arrange for Pansy to spend a week at home with her family, but the headmaster had proved strangely reluctant to provide the week off.

“Perhaps you can work on him, dear. Show some real desperation. It will probably be best if he thinks you are reacting to the war, but if necessary do not hesitate to tell him the truth. A student pregnancy would reflect rather badly on his school, after all, and in his own house too. It should be in his interest as well as ours to avoid the scandal, or to curb it at least. Your prospects are wounded, but though you may think they are destroyed, such stories have been buried before. Be strong, my dear girl.”

So her mother assumed it was an accident and that Pansy was just too resourceless to solve the problem herself. It was what she had been aiming for, but all the same it was infuriating, and she rose abruptly from her bed and stalked the grounds for a good hour to calm down. They hadn't even asked if the rumors were true, just assumed. And they hadn't bothered to write to her before contacting the headmaster. Determined to recover their bargaining chip – of course they would see no need to consult her, what would the point be of that? On the other hand, they seemed to be taking her cooperation for granted, which was as useful as it was frustrating. They even assumed they already knew how she felt about it. That would make things easier.

She felt uneasy, too, about the encouraging parts of the letter – could they really still force her to abort the child and marry that disgusting old Henry Faust? He was thirty-eight, for fuck's sake! Not only would that be bad in all the ways this plan was designed to counteract to begin with, as expected she was starting to care for her non-bump, and the thought that such things could be “buried” was not at all acceptable. But no, they couldn't do that as long as she stayed at Hogwarts. She would be four months pregnant by the end of the school year. They might still force it somehow then. Shit. It was this fucking war – her parents used to be relatively sane. And this fucking swearing – she used to be classy.

Maybe she would need to publicly admit to the pregnancy somehow. Get Millicent to taunt her and then accidentally being pushed to admit the pregnancy in front of a large enough part of the school that the rumour would be considered confirmed? It would be humiliating, to be sure, but it would make it impossible for her parents to just disappear her little problem. She patted her still-flat belly absent-mindedly. She would have to ask Millicent for help. “Yes,” she murmured, “aunty Milly will help us get you safely into the world.” What a world, though. This war needed to end.

\---

Millicent Bulstrode tended to act as though she could get away with anything, and over the years they had been friends Pansy had learned this behaviour made more sense than she had thought at first. Milly assumed that the world would bounce right off her back, and somehow it generally did. Pansy and Daphne, too, had been raised to believe that their place in the world was their birthright. It was a birthright that demanded constant maintenance, though: Talk right, dress right, behave right. Not just emphasise your own superiority, but police the borders to your class by mocking those outside it. Daphne had been taught not to make enemies, and Pansy not to make the wrong ones. Their place in the world needed defending. They had a game to play.

Millicent had no concern for rules like that. Pansy's mother had been shocked by Milly. The Bulstrodes were such a good family, how could they just let the girl have grown up so… unladylike? Pansy figured it was by having enough power not to have to always have to be careful about not losing any. For all her power plays Pansy's mother wasn't always as good with understanding how it really worked as she thought. But right now the point wasn't power. The point was that Milly had the foulest mouth of anyone and could easily afford to make a scene. Hell, she would probably be delighted to.

\---

The opportunity arose in potions class two days later when Pansy accidentally dropped an extra peacock's feather into the potion they were working on. Millicent glared and hissed before she raised her hand and demanding loudly that Snape free her from working with the “clumsy knocked-up cow” any more. Snape raised his eyebrows, told her that if no one wanted a clumsy potions partner no one would work with Gryffindors, unfortunately, and so even as a headmaster his hands were tied. He then went on to ignore Millicent, as he often did. Pansy did not.

“What the HELL, Milly! I've tolerated your clumsiness and stupidity for years, and I make one little mistake and you back-stab me like this? What is wrong with you?”

“Which little mistake was that, miss slutty? Cause you must have made it quite a lot of times since you don't even know who knocked you up. Not just sluttish, but stupid too, to expect to be coddled like a baby when you have one in the oven yourself.”

“Wha… I'm not… I don't… that's not what I meant! And you can't talk to me like that!”

Slytherins and Ravenclaws alike giggled like mad now. Pansy could feel her face go red and real tears forming in her eyes. Good, as long as it didn't get completely out of control, she supposed.

“Oh, I don't care about who did or didn't get you pregnant, Pansy, as long as I don't have to deal with you bumbling around my cauldron. If you're this clumsy already I can't imagine what an elephant you'll make when you're all swollen up. Actually, it's too bad we don't get to see that. We could sell tickets, help pay for the war and all.”

The taunts sent hot tears of shame rolling down Pansy's cheeks now, even while a small voice cheered triumph. Oh, this would be effective. People would write home about this, if not to their parents then to their siblings, letters about her utter humiliation and how she obviously couldn't deny anything, and so it must all be true.

So she sobbed out a “Fuck you, Milly” and was building up to a “it wasn't supposed to be like this” when Snape interrupted.

“Miss Parkinson, are you indeed pregnant?” His voice was flat and dangerous and she was terrified in spite of herself. Brilliant, working with real feelings was so much easier. She nodded mutely, staring down.

“You will see me in my office immediately after class, Miss Parkinson” he snapped. She nodded again. The whispering picked up. “Five points from Slytherin for airing your dirty laundry in public. Ten points from Ravenclaw for gossiping in my class. Now you would all do well to focus on your potions. These are extremely fickle, and will likely be on your OWLs.”

\---

She was surprised to find a tea tray on the headmaster's desk when she entered his office. He poured tea and milk, and she twirled the spoon to distribute the milk.

“I suppose this means I should send a sharply worded letter to your parents?”

“That would probably be good,” she agreed.

“I assume what I just witnessed was miss Bulstrode being... helpful?”

“Yes. She was, yes.”

“It can sometimes be hard to tell with her. But I suppose that was rather the point.”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“As you may already know I have been under some pressure from your parents to release you to your family's care for a while. They seem eager to intervene in order to salvage your reputation. I deterred them, of course.”

“Yes, my mother wrote to tell me. After the fact, that is. I really appreciate what you did.”

“It is my duty to look after my students, to the extend that I can.”

“Of course.” Those fucking child warriors, never conceding, feeding the war for fucking ever. She was so tired. But if he wanted to let his bad conscience benefit her she certainly wasn't going to argue.

“I will assist you when and as I can, Miss Parkinson. Right now I believe the most useful thing I could do to be writing a letter about the disappointing lack of discipline and sense in one of my most promising students to make sure your parents realise that there is no way they can undo this. It would be best if you stayed and helped with that, as you know your parents the best. Do you think mentioning detentions would be effective or trivialising? How about emphasising the lack of a father to make sure they understand that to be very much common knowledge as well?”

They settled down to write at length about Snape's very grave disappointment in Pansy's inadequate self discipline when it came to the other sex, her insufficient extracurricular potion knowledge, and her appallingly inferior slytherin resourcefulness upon facing the results of both these other failings. They emptied the tea pot in the process. Afterwards she ran from his office as if all dignity was lost and all she wanted was to hide in her bed. The last was true, she was exhausted. Nothing had quite prepared her for this part of pregnancy.

\---

When the errant Gryffindor child warriors came back to Hogwarts early in May, Pansy was three and a half months pregnant. And then Hogwarts was surrounded, and Lord Voldemort promised an end to the war if they would just give up Harry Potter. One stupid Gryffindor to end the war that would kill Merlin-knew-how-many-people if it went on? It was an excellent deal, good enough that even the Gryffindors couldn't ignore it. No one could possibly be _that_ bad at math. Relief washed through her. All was going to be well.

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle, this is my first fic. Also, I am a hufflepuff trying to write intelligible slytherins, which was a bit of a challenge. Manipulation is not my strong suit. Pansy insisted, though.


End file.
